Critical Failing
by BarnabusBi11ingsley
Summary: Christine is a dedicated scientist but she is about to discover that everything comes with a price. This is my first experiment with medical drama, and I've finally given in to my own personal damsel-in-distress fantasy, even though Christine is about as un-damsely as can be (in my opinion). Enjoy my fantasies. Reviews are welcome. They improve my work.
1. Chapter 1

Her deadline was in less than a week. She was supposed to have had at least another month, but the Journal of Anomalies and Curiosities of Medicine had contacted her several days before to tell her of the change in plans. Her paper on the accelerated aging effects of certain types of radiation would have to be finished three weeks ahead of its original deadline.

On the plus side, she'd completed the relevant research weeks ago, otherwise her situation would have been hopeless, but she would have to virtually give up sleep for the next five days while she compiled her findings. Roger had taught her a few valuable lessons in her time with him and committing to a deadline was paramount.

Quickly, before Dr. McCoy could arrive and usurp her time, she palmed a mild stimulant and washed down the tablet with a swig of strong black coffee. There were no excuses on a starship. She would have to be alert. The combines effect of the drugs began to kick in within about fifteen minutes and the fog slowly cleared from her head just in time for McCoy to barge in and begging barking orders.

Practically the first thing Christine had realized about was that no matter the occasion, he treated everything like a life or death situation. It was the very attitude that had driven away head nurse after head nurse and ultimately had gotten her the much-coveted position on the Enterprise.

Today their prime objective was getting the new medical supplies down from the shipments cargo hold and getting them coded, catalogued and put away in their proper order before the Enterprise exited federation jurisdiction.

"Get the crates in the back first, they're the oldest", He told her, tossing down the pad with the inventory list on hi desk in front of her. "Make sure to check the dates though. You can't be too careful".

"Yes sir". She said injecting a measure of fake enthusiasm into her voice, which caused McCoy to snort in response.

"Better you than me", He informed her cynically. "Someday you'll be the one delegating."

Christine rolled her eyes but took the padd obediently and began doing a run through of the list of supplies, mentally calculating how many hours of work lay ahead.

It was just her luck that this had to fall on the one week she needed every second of. Oh well, if there was one thing Frank Chapel had taught his only child, it was to roll with the circumstances.

"Consider it done." She told her superior and he responded with a tight smile. "It's a dirty job but somebody has to do it. And it sure as hell won't be me". He informed her, turning back to his own assignment.

Resigning herself to her fate, she trudged on down to shipments and began the long grueling process of hauling fifty-pound crates back to sickbay.

The job would take a day or two at least. Christine, who had carried an unconscious Mr. Scott on her shoulders to sickbay more than once, was not exempt from the heavy lifting. On her second trip, she unexpectedly encountered Mr. Spock who had only more unfortunate news to heap on her.

"I'll need you to have these samples categorized by 5930 federation standard. "We've been called out to the border of the neutral zone and Starfleet command wants this solar year's official report before then". He said, handing her another padd with yet another seemingly endless list.

Christine, by nature, had serious reservations about disappointing any superior officer, let alone Mr. Spock.

"Yes sir". She said resignedly, taking the pad and stuffing it between two plastic crates without bothering to look.

She was already pretty well aware of the sheer amount of work ahead of her. There was no use stressing about it until then.

"Anything else?" She asked obediently, hoping that he would just be gone as soon as possible.

He seemed taken aback by her shortness but didn't comment.

"Have it done by 5930.5 at the latest," He told her with his characteristic bluntness, and with that, the conversation was closed.

"Yes sir, she replied mechanically, and resigned herself to her fate

Honestly sometimes she hated him as much as she loved him (and even that was questionable at times).

She trudged along back to sickbay under the weight of the supply boxes she carried, chewing over how she would manage all her obligations. All roads led back to the same destination: What choice did she have?"

She'd have to make it work either way. Even if it meant her death.

The stimulant usually weren't kept under close watch. Not until quarterly evaluations anyways. She had unlimited access.

She paused for a moment in the turbolift and decided she would do what she had to. She'd come too far too let her career lag now. She's derailed too much already on Roger's account. It was her turn to be all she could be.

No matter what.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days later, Christine's found herself fighting to still her shaking hand as she pressed the hypospray to her neck. The injection began working far more quickly than the tablets had and within less than a minute she felt strength reeturnign to her limbs and the fog clearing from her head.

She flexed her left arm briefly before getting back to her duties. She'd pulled a muscle hauling all those crates the other day, and hadn't slowed down to notice, so intent was she on making short work of the job. Despite her seemingly tireless efforts, there were yet more medical supplies in need of moving. She sighed resignedly and hurried to get back to her duties.

McCoy intercepted her on her way through the ward.

"You feeling okay?" He asked. Peering critically at her. "You look a little pale."

She let out a brief cynical laugh. "Who is okay on this ship? You talked to the Captain recently?"

McCoy harrumphed in response. "That's a laugh. You think he'd admit it if he weren't?"

"Well what makes you think I will?"

He rolled his eyes. "You've been spending too much time in the labs. You're picking up bad habits".

Working side by side with Mr. Spock most evenings compiling their joint research on the parasitic creatures they'd encountered on Deneva had become routine for Christine, and the science officer had often made the same remark regarding the time she spent around Dr. McCoy.

"I swear they're breeding!" One of the techs remarked as he set down yet another crate of medical supplies. Christine hefted the one she had brought up on top of his and paused to catch he breath before making the second run. They had a hoist for some of the heavier supplies, but one of them was in terrible need of repairs and the remaining two were being used by engineering to move their own far heavier, less compact, equipment.

Her head spun momentarily as she straightened up. The stimulants, she knew. She didn't even want to think about how high her blood pressure must be from the combination of mounting stress and stimulant abuse. She took a deep breath to steady herself before turning to technician Woulters.

"Isn't that how it always seems to go?" She replied, mentally thumbing through her repertoire of canned small-talk phrases that she'd built up for situations like this. "Add water and they expand."

She knew her quip had hit the mark when responded with a full-throated laugh. "They definitely don't pay us enough".

She smiled tightly and began the journey back to the cargo hold. Her long hours in the labs and working away at her personal computer terminal were beginning to wear away at her. Her arms felt like lead as she hauled the next load up. This should have been the last task she performed before her sign-off duties for the day, but when she arrived in sickbay she was greeted with the sight of a young engineer on the bio bed with an obviously very bad break just above his knee.

"I need your help here Christine," McCoy barked when he saw her. "He has bone fragments that need removing".

Sighing deeply, she resigned herself and changed into fresh surgical scrubs for the procedure. This cut into her writing time. It would be close, she thought, but it could be done. Even on top of the extra work she was now being required to do in the labs in return for her continued privileges in that area.

She feared the aching tiredness that had overtaken her body and mind would interfere with the surgery, and so it was with the patients well-being in mind, she took another dosage of stimulant. She'd come to enjoy the rush of clarity that came with the sting of the hypospray. After allowing herself a few precious seconds of deep breathing to slow the galloping rate of her heart following the injection, she slipped out of the supply closet and into the emergency room where the young engineer, Ensign Lorex, was awaiting surgery on his leg.

As the Andorian explained while they worked on him, the second anti-grav hoist had finally given out midway through transporting a particularily heavy piece which had subsequently been deposited quite ungently onto his leg. The damage appeared to be extensive, to Chirstine's trained eye as she cut away the pant-leg that was soaked with cobalt based blood.

"It's embarrassing really," He confessed, as they went to work on his thoroughly numbed leg. "Of all the things to put you in sickbay-"

"Well don't get too comfortable," McCoy cut in, drawing out a sliver of bone s he spoke. "You'll be out of here by third watch, I'll make sure of that".

The ensign gave a half-grimace, half-smile as he tried not to look at the mess below his knee. "Yes sir". With that he finally laid back and relaxed as the drugs reached took full effect. He remained semi-concious for the rest of the procedure.

Two hours later, he was wheeled into the recovery room, and Christine was finally able to sign off for the night.

"Get some sleep, Christine". McCoy admonished her on the way out. She'd noticed him eyeing the circles under her eyes all day with a disapproving glare.

She muttered some vague promise to do just that as she made her exit.

Although it wasn't strictly part of her duties, she was obligated to fulfill the requirements Mr. Spock placed upon her. Christine had never been one to shy away from a challenge or admit defeat. Her own father, as proud a dad as he was, had been telling her for years that her one critical failing was her type A personality which refused to back down.

Her hands shook as she undid the French knot she kept her hair in during the day and allowed her ash blond locks to fall around her face in the privacy of her quarters. Her bunkmate was on watch at the moment and she used the time alone to examine herself fully in the dresser mirror. She assessed the bags under her eyes and the tired lines forming around them. She looked haggard. Far older than her 27 years.

When this week was out, she vowed, she would get some serious sleep.

With that thought, she grabbed her bathrobe and a change of clothes and made her way down to the women's showers for her deck. A quick scrub, and she would get herself to the labs for a few hours before devoting the rest of her night to her paper. She had two more nights after this one before the deadline to submit her work.

After a brief internal struggle, she slipped silently back to sickbay to sneak another small dose of stimulant. It was only until the paper was done, she promised.

What could the harm be?

 **Looking like this will be a three chapter story (however nothing is concrete). I'm hoping I can get the next one out in due time. This story is very close to my heart (pardon the pun) so it will be finished, come hell or high water.**


	3. Chapter 3

Commander Sevrix clasped all three of his hands in front of himself and rubbed them impatiently.

One would think that occupying the captain's chair would be an exciting endeavor. But, as he had discovered quickly, there was little to get excited about. Adventure didn't often announce itself without provocation, however Captain Kirk made it appear. Most of what he observed and recorded went unnoticed.

Until tonight.

"Sir!" Lieutenant Palmer said suddenly, turning from her console towards the deputy captain. One slim hand rose to her earpiece as she relayed the information she was receiving. "I'm picking up a signal of..." She trailed off here and her tone became one of disbelief as she worked out the intricacies of the broadcast.

"Romulan origin." She finished, a look of bafflement on her lovely features. The air of general confusion that settled over the bridge was broken with her next words.

"It seems to be a distress signal." She announced, and Sevrix's orange skinned-head whipped around to face her.

"Check Starfleet's official report on authorized Romulan vessels for this standard rotation". He barked instinctively, his hands stilling in his lap.

Romulan vessels were occasionally authorized in advance to make carefully scheduled runs through federation space. While this could be one such mission, it was standard practice to be wary of possible traps. This could be a lure of some kind. It had happened before.

"No sense alerting the captain until we know it's legitimate", he announced, settling back in the captain's chair. "How long approximately till we know Lieutenant"? He asked, resuming rubbing his hands anxiously as his species was known to do.

"Approximately four hours, Sir," Lieutenant Palmer said, after a moment. "We'll know at the soonest possible time. She assured him.

 _No sense waking the captain_ , Sevrex thought. _Not just yet._

One standard hour later, the results were in.

The Enterprise had gotten close enough to read their call letters and check them against the Starfleet database of Romulan ships in federation space.

"The call letters do check out," Palmer said, finally, turning back to Lieutenant Sevrix. "Should we wake the captain?"

He agonized briefly before finally, nodding to his human compatriot. "Yes. Let him know we have a Romulan ship in distress that may need assistance. This is going to be an interesting night".

Captain Kirk came awake instantly at the alert from his desk comm. Shaking the fatigue away as quickly as he could, he bent over his desk and answered the incoming call before even wiping the remnants of sleep from his eyes. Like a mother bird to his hatchlings, his innate instincts had taken over before his mind could intervene.

"What is it?" He asked, not even fully conscious yet.

His deputy in command, an Edoan officer by the name of Sevrex, answered briskly and efficiently.

"We've picked up a distress signal from a Romulan ship in Federation space." He reported. "It's an authorized vessel, and it appears that their starboard engine has failed due to space debris." The details were shaky, but the translation indicated a violent, spontaneous failure. The outer hull was deteriorating as the chain reaction of destruction progressed. Their own engineers had estimated no more than several hours before the hull failed completely.

Kirk rubbed the gunk from his eyes as he processed this. Saving Romulans seemed counter intuitive to all he stood for but there were certain policies he was compelled to follow, and one of those policies was to uphold the Federation's oath to provide aid to those who needed it regardless of allegiance. Kirk vaguely remembered learning something similar about the battlefield nurses that had tended to the soldiers in America's first civil war.

"Can we make it in time?"

"Yes sir. Navigation has already plotted a course, which will get us there in less than an hour. Communications is standing by to radio them and let them know we're on our way."

"Do so," Kirk said wriggling into his uniform, now fully alert to the gravity of the situation. "I'm on my way."

After several hours in the labs, Christine had finally staggered half dead to the quarters she shared with Nurse Waverly. She'd downed a couple of antacid tablets, which hadn't done anything to stop the hole her stomach fluids were burning in her chest. After wrestling with the pain all evening, she'd all but collapsed onto her rock hard bunk before darkness had overtaken her, and she'd fallen into a dreamless slumber.

Far too short a time later, she was being roused from her deathlike sleep by the red alert signal.

As per Starfleet regulations, she slept only in her underwear and Starfleet undershirt and shorts. At the first wail of the red alert, she leaped out of bed and into her boots, which were kept at her bedside each night. Her fresh change of uniform was laundered and folded at the foot of her bed and she had it over her head and in place at a flash. Just like that, she was ready for duty.

"Report to transporter room three!" She was told upon reporting to sickbay along with the rest of the ship's nurses.

Dr. McCoy, himself, even seemed frazzled, perhaps because he was not accustomed to being woken in the middle of the night either. Nevertheless, he barked orders without reservation. To Christine's eye, he seemed even more embittered than usual, most likely due to the ungodly hour they'd all been roused at.

"Head Nurse!" He addressed her sharply, thrusting a datapadd unceremoniously in her general direction. "Organize triage teams!" He barked, handing her a hard copy of the latest Intel on the situation.

She flipped through it at lightning speed, absorbing as much as she could with her head swimming as it was.

Her limbs felt especially shaky tonight of all nights. The combined use of stimulants and sleep deprivation were making themselves abundantly clear at this moment. Her fingers trembled as she equipped her medi-kit.

At the first opportunity, Christine stole away to the sickbay restroom for the briefest of moments and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Even without makeup, she was alarmed. Her lips were as pale as the rest of her face and she felt the first hints of genuine concern creeping in. She looked sick, she realized finally. Very sick.

Before she made her way to the transporter room with the rest of the med team, Christine stopped and snuck another vial of stimulant from the supply cabinet. Her heart jumped as the medicine reached it and she felt that now-familiar strength flooding her limbs. She swallowed reflexively several times as the effects peaked and then leveled out. Last time, she promised herself. They were in a state of emergency now and lives were depending on her. Romulan lives, but nonetheless she had a duty to perform. She'd never been one to shirk her duties, no matter what it cost her.

It was a matter of pride.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you to everyone who read the first three chapters of my story and left such encouraging comments and to everyone who favourited or followed. I honestly feel I don't deserve the attention with so many talented and _diligent_ writers on this site to compare to. On that note, I'm sorry for dropping this story just as it was picking up, but I just wasn't happy with how I was representing Christine. Her actions just didn't seem in line with the character, or at least my perception of her.

The core idea for this story is inspired by one of my oldest favourite Sp/Ch stories: _Lifeline_ by _Milareppa._ I started out with a little too much energy and not enough planning. I'm working on a much more well thought-out outline of the story that should hopefully deliver the mood I'm looking for. I'm really trying to improve my voice this time and look at everything I write with a critical eye, instead of just hoping no one will notice the rushed quality. I'll be coming out with the new version hopefully in the next couple weeks. I'll also be working on a couple additions to other stories I always meant to continue.

Thank you again to everyone still reading. I'll have more fo you soon. Promise.


End file.
